


Brew

by AlyssaKendall



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Coffee, Gen, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-30
Updated: 2019-03-30
Packaged: 2019-12-26 20:29:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18289679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaKendall/pseuds/AlyssaKendall
Summary: In which Clint Barton drinks his coffee directly from the pot. A reflective Hawkeye piece.





	Brew

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a panel from one of Fraction's Hawkeye comics. Takes place some time between Avengers and Age of Ultron.

Any more, it seemed like people were finding new ways to brew their coffee. Keurigs and single serve cups, french presses, espresso bars, and manual pour over kettles. Clint turned up his nose at the thought of them before glancing at the trusty, traditional drip coffee maker in the corner of the counter in the kitchen. He stretched his arms over his head and let them drop behind his neck. His shoulders popped and his neck creaked as he let out a yawn that turned into a groan. It was barely dawn outside, but he never slept well post-mission anyway. He rocked on his toes and extended his back in another brief stretch for a moment that gave way to a small symphony of pops and cracks -- most of which he couldn’t detect where they came from -- and then let his arms drop to his sides. 

“Shit,” he murmured sleepily. 

The coffee maker was like a beacon of hope (or maybe it was relief) in a dark hour. He trudged slowly to it, pulling out the carafe and taking it to the sink to fill with water. He turned back to flip open the water chamber, and carefully poured the contents inside. A full pot. Another yawn as he replaced the pot in his place, and then opened the cabinet to pull out the large canister of coffee grounds, and a filter to go with it. With only an eyeball to measure, he placed the filter into the maker and began dumping spoonfuls of grounds into it. A small smile crept up onto his lips as he let the smell of the grounds fill his nose. Quickly he closed the lid and flipped the switch to ‘on.’ Soon, he thought, it will be ready. He could wait a few minutes to have a strong brew. 

The small smile turned into more a grin as he thought about how strong he’d grown to enjoy his coffee. He could thank Nat for that, she made her brew “strong enough to wake the dead” as Stark had called it. Clint chuckled as he thought about it. He’d rather preferred it that way, and so did Thor it seemed. Banner and Steve never complained, and so it became the standard. All of the Avengers took their coffee black. They didn’t consider talking to each other when they met pre or post mission without at least one huge pot was brewed and shared. At least three more would need to be made before getting to the heart of any matter.

But the mission was over, and Clint didn’t have to share. Laura would likely stay asleep another hour or so before getting up to put on a tea kettle. He could stand alone in his kitchen, his body aching from days before, and listen to the coffee drip into the pot as it came out steaming. Clint sighed. A few more minutes and it was his to drink.

He thought about the time Tony tried to put in an espresso bar and four Keurigs in the kitchen at Headquarters, and took out the standard maker in the process. He’s still not sure if it pissed off Nat or Thor more, but Clint took their side when he woke up to their argument that morning. By noon of the same day, the original maker was back on the counter, and only one Keurig remained. The espresso bar was placed in the corner on a table somewhere, and despite Nat’s love for a strong cup, remained mostly untouched. The whole thing was too damn complicated, and Steve likened it to astrophysics. Banner claimed it was easier to get a degree than to manage to squeak out one of the tiny cups. 

Clint had tried the Keurig on the other hand, only to find that his coffee tasted like watered down instant grounds. He barely finished his cup, just in time to see Nat spit hers out. “Disgusting,” he remembered her remark. “Amazing what people can find enjoyable now.” Clint made a face and nodded. “You think we can salvage the old maker? Or do you think he used it for parts by now?”

“Don’t joke like that,” Natasha responded coldly. 

He could still hear her voice so well. He paused to remember how Stark had insisted that, if they weren’t going to use a quality maker, then they could “at least use quality coffee.” Tony’s next purchase was an automatic bean grinder and a monthly subscription to a coffee-of-the-month club. Clint could picture the small bags of Guatemalan and Colombian roasts, and the Sumatra blends from Kenya and Madagascar. It was fine and all, until one day while the grinder whirred, Steve and Thor agreed, “there was nothing wrong with Folgers.” Clint almost snorted into his own mug. Maybe they were all old fashioned. Maybe they liked it that way. 

He was jarred back into reality when his own coffee maker began to huff and sputter, pricking his ears. Finally, he thought, as the final drips made their way through the filter. With a content sigh, he reached out to grab the pot off the hot plate, and flipped the lid open with a press of his thumb. The mugs were in a cabinet across the kitchen. He _could_ manage the few steps it took to walk over and grab one, or…

Forget it, he thought.

He couldn’t be bothered. Instead he brought the pot to his lips, steam still escaping from the surface, and took a hearty sip from the side. Though a bit bitter, it danced on his tongue and filled his senses. He closed his eyes and let himself enjoy it. Another strong sip before setting it down. Already he was starting to feel a bit better, a little looser. 

His reminiscing thoughts slowly faded into thoughts of his daily to-do list on the farm. Despite his aching body, there was always plenty of work to be done, and it waited for no one. Especially when it was just days after returning from a mission. Laura couldn’t be expected to complete every chore -- both inside and out -- on her own, with two small children. Clint took another long swig from the pot. He could feel it running down his throat and through his body. The soreness in his muscles and joints would slowly subside from a throbbing pain to a dull ache. He’d be more alert too, ready and focused to go about his day.

The pot was half gone when he heard footsteps coming from down the hall. It wasn’t light or erratic enough to be one of the kids; Laura was up early. Slowly she made her way into the kitchen, and grinned when she saw him holding the pot.

“This what you learned over at those fancy Headquarters?”

Clint looked down at the pot before looking up at her with a small grin. “Only when Tony isn’t trying to make us fancier than we are.”

“Sounds like a story,” she responded, leaning in to give him a small kiss on his jaw.

He smiled a little wider and gave a small chuckle. He’d tell her when he finished the pot.


End file.
